


saying goodbye (is death by a thousand cuts)

by AsphodeleSauvage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Coda, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Dean Winchester Needs Castiel, Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsphodeleSauvage/pseuds/AsphodeleSauvage
Summary: Cas died, and Dean didn’t say “I love you” back.And Dean is left alone, with his regrets and his unsaid words.Fuck fate, fuck curses, fuck God and the Empty and Death. He’s never let any of that stop him. He won’t begin now. Not when Cas needs him.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 112
Kudos: 605





	1. what once was ours is no one’s now

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After seeing *that* scene, I... really needed to write a coda in which Dean goes and brings his angel back. You know, à la Orpheus and Eurydice.  
> I've been wanting to write Destiel for a few weeks anyway, so, here it is. Four chapters. I hope you'll like it!
> 
> And yeah I've chosen a Taylor Swift song for the titles because... well, because Dean secretly loves Taylor Swift and he won't admit it. And now the time has come for Dean to finally admit what and -- more importantly -- who he loves, and to own up to that, and to live it fully. The fact that Cas has recently used the alias "Agent Swift" and that "Death by a thousand cuts" just really, really fits the Destiel separation is a welcome bonus!
> 
> Btw English isn't my first language, and this is my first time writing a story in English. Hit me up if you see any mistake!

> _And what once was ours is no one's now_   
>  _I see you everywhere, the only thing we share_   
>  _Is this small town_
> 
> Taylor Swift -- "Death by a thousand cuts"

Cas is gone.

Cas is dead.

_Cas is dead, dead, dead, dead dead dead dead dead Cas is dead_

That’s all Dean can think of.

His phone is buzzing. The ground is stone cold. His heart is beating like mad. Tears run down his face, warm, salty. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters; everything’s a dream. Nothing is real except that Cas is dead. Dead, gone, dead again, dead forever.

Lost to Dean.

Again.

He promised himself the last time – that it’d be the last time indeed. Cas wouldn’t die on him again. Dean would be better.

But he hasn’t been better, he’s been worse than ever, and now Cas is dead again, dead to save him, taken by evil black goo like the one that coils in Dean’s stomach. It makes him want to throw up, or perhaps to throw things, or maybe to just lay there and wait for the end.

Maybe Chuck has won after all.

Cas’s face – Cas’s happy smile. He’s never seen Cas smile like that. Cas doesn’t smile often, in fact.

_And whose fault is that, Dean?_

Cas’s eyes, brimming with tears. So blue, so beautiful, gone and closed and cold.

_Goodbye, Dean._

Cas’s words just can’t stop echoing in his head.

_I made a deal._

_I always wondered... what my true happiness could even look like –_

_For love, for love, for love_

_You changed me, Dean_

_I love you_

_Goodbye._

What even happened? One minute Death was banging at the door and Dean was going to die, and then Cas was telling him about a deal, and sprouting praise at Dean as if Dean were the best thing on Earth, and then – and after that Cas was gone, and Dean was alone.

Cas in the Empty, Dean in an empty world.

Cas was gone, and Dean was frozen on the spot, and he couldn’t understand, and he couldn’t talk – what could he say, what was happening – and Cas was dead now, once again, and Dean didn’t even tell him goodbye, didn’t even –

_He told me I love you._

It hits Dean, suddenly.

Cas told him he loved him.

_He loves me._

For one moment, Dean can’t even breathe. It takes its time to sink in, as he replays Cas’s words over and over and over. _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

Cas loves him.

Cas loved him.

_The only thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have._

Is it Cas who said that?

Cas died because he loved him. Fitting. Dean would laugh if he could. _The very touch of you corrupts._ Everything that touches Dean rots and dies. Everything beautiful that touches him withers and dies away. So Cas, the one who touched him deeper than anyone else – the one who gripped him tight and never let him go – of course Cas would die. As he always does. Cas was doomed ever since he fell in –

_He loves me._

And Dean said nothing.

Cas died without knowing that... without hearing that...

Dean gulps. Clenches his jaw. Balls his hands into fists. His nails hurt the flesh here. He has to do it. To admit it to himself. If Cas was brave enough to face the truth, and accept it, and say it out loud, and die for it, then – then Dean can, to.

Cas died, and Dean didn’t say “I love you” back.

New tears run down his cheeks, and he can’t breathe.

Here. It wasn’t that difficult, finally. It just sounds true. It just is true. And Cas is right, after all. It’s a bit of a relief to finally admit it. To let go of it.

It doesn’t hurt less, though. It hurts more, because Cas is dead, and Dean can’t tell him, and they can have nothing, and Cas died not knowing.

He died thinking he wasn’t loved back, Dean realises, and it’s as if someone punched him in the stomach.

Cas thought it was so impossible that Dean may love him too, that he was happy just saying it, happy dying saving Dean, as if that was the best he could ever hope for.

When they could have had so much more.

They could have been so much more, if only Dean had been true to all the promises he made every time Cas died. That he would stop lashing out and pushing him away, that he would tell him, that he’d been honest with himself. He swore to himself the last time that if one day, by a miracle... but a miracle happened and Dean... remained himself.

_I’ve run out of second chances, is all._

Sam has lost Eileen, too, and Charlie has lost Stevie. They’ve given love a second chance, and it came to bite them in the ass – because Death, because Chuck. But Dean is the biggest fool of all, because he’s had second chance after second chance, more than he deserves, and he’s never used them, has never tried, and just because of him Cas and he never had a chance to – _never even tried_...

_The only thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have._

Dean knew he couldn’t have what he wanted, either – except that he could, and he was too stupid to realise it. It’s so blaringly obvious now, in everything Cas has ever said and done. Every touch of his fingers on Dean’s skin – if Dean hadn’t been so busy wishing the butterflies away he would have known. Every time Cas adverted his eyes, kept himself from looking – Dean should have seen it, because he always did the same thing, but hey, he was probably too busy looking away too.

All this time wasted thinking Cas couldn’t possibly love him back – that he was so out of Dean’s league that it wasn’t even an option – that Dean didn’t deserve it anyway – that it would only end in tragedy – that it wasn’t normal and good to feel that way for his best friend, his angel – that Cas surely didn’t have feelings like that – and Cas had liked April and Meg anyways – and there was nothing Dean could offer...

And all this time Cas loved him; all the while Cas thought there was no way _Dean_ could feel the same way...

All this time wasted, and here Cas is, making it beautiful, and real, and true, and the best thing ever to happen to Dean, making it everything Dean ever wanted, only to be taken from him.

If it was all meant to end in tragedy anyway, then why hasn’t Dean tried? A few moments of happiness before the big end – but happiness, for Cas, was dying unloved, dying for Dean, and Dean never hated himself more.

It was all for Dean to take, and – oh – he took – but never the right thing. He’s kept Cas at arm’s length, pushed him away, he’s hidden away the one thing that could have make them both happy, he treated Cas like pure shit...

No, happiness for Cas was _fucking dying_.

_Is it me? Is it me that led him to so much despair that letting go of his love for me is the happiest he can be? That he can leave Earth, and Jack, and Sam, without a regret?_

_Does he really think there was nothing left for him on Earth?_

_Nothing more?_

If only – he could have – he should have told Cas there _was_ more – they should have...

_No, Dean, it’s all on you, it’s not on Cas._

The only real thing in his life – the only thing that was just his and Cas’ – and it never became _real_.

It’s when he hears a loud crack that Dean realises he’s been punching the wall.

His hand bleeds, red and shiny, just like Cas’s blood – shed for him, shed for love, the last proof that Cas was alive a few moments ago.

But now Cas is dead. He is trapped in a fucking Empty, where there’s only regret and misery.

Well. Maybe Cas and Dean aren’t in such different places after all.

Regret. Will Cas regret not telling Dean before? Will that be what haunts his angel – never trying with Dean? No, probably not.

Because Cas fucking _died_ thinking Dean doesn’t love him, will _never_ love him –

_Fuck it._

Dean is up and walking before he even realises he’s made his decision.

He just can’t let that one go. He can’t let Cas die without telling him “I love you too.” He can’t let Cas think for all eternity that his feelings were unrequited. He can’t. He can’t do that to Cas. Cas deserves so much fucking better.

He deserves better than Dean, too, but maybe that shouldn’t matter. Maybe they should just take what they want and be happy, and fuck all the rest.

Fuck fate, fuck curses, fuck God and the Empty and Death. He’s never let any of that stop him. He won’t begin now. Not when Cas needs him.

“The self-hating angel of Thursday,” that’s what Chuck said, right? (Because that’s such a thing to say to your son who’s looked for you and believed in you and loved you all his life, and suddenly, Dean wants Chuck dead more than ever.) Well, no. Dean won’t let that happen. He won’t let Cas die alone and thinking he was unloved and unworthy.

_Your problem, Dean, is that you have no faith._

_Well, you’re wrong, Cas. I believe in_ you _._


	2. but if the story’s over why am i still writing pages?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, subscribed or added this story to their favorites! I love you all. I hope you like this new chapter!

They should have a spell for it somewhere in the Bunker, shouldn’t they? They have fucking spells for everything here. A spell to resurrect an angel – shouldn’t be too hard. Wasn’t that what Nick had tried with Lucifer, anyway? There should be notes left somewhere.

Sam will kill him when he gets home and sees the mess Dean is leaving – books discarded and scattered on the floor, open boxes of dangerous artefacts – _you should be careful, Dean_ , Cas says in his head. He doesn’t have the time to be _careful_ , and he doesn’t care.

He is methodical, though. One book after the other; one shelf after the other. He looks at everything. He uses Sam’s system to find the books that can help him. Rage is gone; there’s only cold determination now.

He needs Cas. He knows that now, more than ever. If Cas doesn’t come back, then it’s the end.

He finds nothing, nothing, nothing. He keeps praying, but nothing happens.

 _Come back, Cas, come back. Please wake up and come back. I beg you. Come back, Cas, come back._ He feels as if he’s screaming in the void.

Rowena’s notes, the Book of the Damned. That should do it, Dean thinks. How hasn’t he thought of it sooner? Maybe he should call Rowena. He doesn’t know where his phone is, though. He dropped it at some point – it kept buzzing, and Dean can’t care about the rest of the world when Cas is no longer there. The world be damned, he thinks, and he knows he’ll regret thinking that, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. Why would he care when Cas is dead?

Will Cas still think he is selfless and loving if he abandons Sam and Jack and humanity?

Perhaps. But he can’t do it without Cas. He never was able to.

The Book of the Damned sends ripples of darkness and disgust throughout him when he touches it. Thankfully, Sam kept Rowena’s notes near it, and Dean just has to read them.

Rowena wouldn’t mind, he knows she wouldn’t. Not for Cas. Not if it’s Dean saving Cas. Because she knows, and Dean realises now that she doesn’t just know about _his_ feelings, but about Cas’s as well. And if he thinks about it – he doesn’t want to, but his mind goes there without his permission – everybody knew, actually. Sam. Mom. Charlie. Bobby. Every angel and every demon they met.

All this time spent being shamed that people knew what he felt, and if he’d gotten his head out of his ass, he’d have understood they weren’t just speaking about _him_.

It takes some time, but Dean finds it. _Resurrecting an Angel – pulling an Angel from the Empty,_ Rowena wrote. Of course she took the time to work on it after Cas’s last death. She loves Cas, too. Not like Dean does, but she does.

When this is over, when Cas is back, Dean will do something nice for Rowena. He doesn’t know what yet, but he will.

He reads the procedure carefully. He needs salt – not hard to find. His own blood – not a huge sacrifice to make, unlike Cas’s sacrifice. A bowl, and fire – easy. Reciting an incantation – can do.

The last ingredient, though... Dean’s heart drops.

 _Blood of the Nephilim related to the deceased angel_ , Rowena wrote.

Jack doesn’t have his mojo any longer, and he isn’t related to Cas – not by blood, anyway. Dean knows family don’t end in blood, but the universe and magic are stupid – not surprising, they’ve been created by Chuck.

 _Is that how it ends?_ Dean thinks. Tears and despair burn his eyes again. Does it end because Cas never had a Nephilim child? It can’t be possible.

But Rowena has written other things, too. _Is Nephilim blood necessary? Does the Angel need to have a child? Unsure. Blood of another angel won’t do. Needs deep connection? Unique bond. What other bond than parent and child?_

Dean smiles bitterly at that. Rowena can say all she wants, she can be queen and all that jazz, but she still misses Crowley. Of course she does.

But this “unique bond” thing gives him an idea. Perhaps an angel doesn’t need a Nephilim child to come back. Perhaps – just perhaps – any unique bond would do. A deep bond. A _more profound bond_.

At the time, he had cringed when Cas had said that, because – well, it sounded like a chick-flick thing, and Dean was still denying some things. But now, things are different. 

His hand touches his left shoulder, absent-mindedly. The last time Cas touched him, and it wasn’t for any of the things Dean sometimes imagined, when he was too tired of pretending.

Cas rebuilt his body, he thinks. Dean’s blood and entire body have already been claimed – and his heart too. He is no child of Cas’s – thank fuck – but Cas left his imprint on him. It should be enough.

Billie said he never followed a rule in his life, but Dean follows Rowena’s notes more carefully than he’s ever done something.

Draw a salt ring. Step inside. Drip your blood to a bowl. Add the blood of the Nephilim.

Dean hesitates. What should he do? Add only his own blood? He shrugs. If it doesn’t work, he’ll try differently, that’s all. He’ll try day after day if he has to.

If Cas thought Dean’d let him die and live the rest of his life happily, he was sorely mistaken.

He won’t quit until Cas is alive and next to him. Or until Cas is in his arms. Dean will keep him embraced forever; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to let go of Cas any time soon. Suddenly, the idea of hugging Cas – keeping him close – touching him – doesn’t seem as forbidden as it used to be. It only sounds good, and real. It’s something Dean can have, can allow himself to have.

Envelop the Nephilim blood in a cloth. Burn all the blood. Pray to the fire.

_Please, Cas, come back. Wake up, Cas, please, and come back, come back, come back._

Dean doesn’t want to say the Words, not know. Cas deserves better than to hear them when he’s still in the Empty. He deserves to hear them in person, to receive them properly. These words are precious, Dean can’t give them like that.

Recite the incantation.

“ _.... Nexus noster, restitutus est. Surgas ex abysso, in lumine existas!_ ”

Dean doesn’t know what to expect. He doesn’t care. He’s prepared for everything – fighting, negotiating, begging.

He’s relieved to see _something_ happen, though. He was right. Their bond was enough.

Of course it was enough, he thinks. Their bond has always been stronger than anything else. It’s the only real and beautiful thing in Dean’s life, after – and perhaps in Cas’s life too.

A dark rift opens in front of him, and the same black slime that came out to take Cas creeps from it into the room. It takes a form, slowly, slowly.

_Cas?_

But the form is feminine, and blonde, and looks at him with exasperation.

“You?” it asks.

“Meg?” he answers.

The fuck. He wanted _Cas_ , not _her_. Why would the Empty send Cas’s demonic ex-girlfriend in Cas’s stead?

She rolls her eyes. “Why would I send you _Meg_? Why do you _all_ believe that? It was amusing at first, but it’s becoming exhausting, really. Too bad it’s not exhausting enough to send me back to SLEEP!” She yells that last word.

“You’re the Empty,” he said, understanding dawning on him.

“Ding, ding! Winchester number two has the correct answer!”

Dean hates her – _it_ – already. This thing with its sardonic voice and disgusting grin. That thing that cursed Cas to never be happy.

_And whose fault is it if he was never happy, say, Dean?_

That thing that took Cas from him.

“Didn’t expect you to see so soon,” the Empty adds, her voice bored. “Daring of you to bother me while I’m trying to _sleep_.”

“Oh, sorry to wake you up,” he says, sarcastic.

“Well, it’s not as if I can sleep,” she goes on, as if she hasn’t heard him. Dean is _so_ tired of cosmic entities. “I’m awake now – thanks to your little angelic friend – and everything is loud now – say thank you to your bomb of a Nephilim. These two –”

“It wasn’t Jack,” Dean cut in. “Billie sent him there. God and she turned him into a bomb.”

“Oh?” says Meg. “Well, glad I took her, then. She thought she’d be the boss of me – ha! Used me – told me to let the Nephilim go – well, she got what she deserved.”

“Speaking of,” Dean cuts in, once again. “You have someone I want.”

“Ooooh,” the Empty says with ugly delight. “Let me guess –”

“Give me Cas back.”

“The little angel! I knew it. It was obvious, of course. Did he finally tell you he loved you? Oh, of course he did. That’s why he was happy enough for me to take him, huh? You and him got all loved up –”

Something must have shown on Dean’s face, because the Empty abruptly stops speaking, and frowns. “What? It wasn’t that?” She looks at Dean carefully. She mustn’t be too good at understanding humans yet, because she looks confused.

“Well. Doesn’t matter. You want your angel back to love him up some more, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter why I want him back. Just let him go.”

“Why?” the Empty asks. She looks around, sweeps some books off a chair, and sits down. “Castiel and I had a deal. I let the Nephilim go, and I would get Castiel in exchange. One moment of happiness, and his ass is mine. Instead of being _yours_ ,” she adds with a smile, and Dean swears he’s never wanted to punch someone that hard before. It only seems to amuse her more.

“You let Jack go without a deal,” Dean reminds her. He doesn’t know what to say to win. But he _needs_ that win. He’s already lost too much. Chuck has won, the Empty has won, Billie has won, and Dean is tired of losing everything he holds dear.

“There _was_ a deal too,” the Empty tells him. “With Billie. I let Jack go, Billie makes me sleep again.”

“Billie lied,” Dean said. “And you still can’t sleep.”

A scowl screws up Meg’s face. “No. I can’t. She lied to me, and paid for it. That was the deal too. And what deal can you give me, Dean Winchester? There’s nothing you can give me.”

“You can have God,” Dean blurts before thinking.

Meg’s face shows surprise. “What?”

“God,” Dean insists. “You can have him.”

“You can’t give me God. You don’t have him. You _can’t_ have him.”

“No,” Dean says, thinking hard and fast. “And I can’t promise you you’ll get him, either. But he’s your only chance to go back to sleep.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dean’s throat is dry, but he has to do it. He’s never been good with words – but he needs to be now. For Cas.

“Chuck – God – absorbed Amara. He is the most powerful being in the universe now. You and him are the only cosmic beings left. And he’s destroying our world right now as we speak. He won’t leave you alone. He wants to be the only master of everything. He plotted to destroy Amara. He did the same with Billie. He won’t let you sleep. And I think he’ll destroy you, too. He wants to start over, to control everything.”

And as the words spill from his mouth, Dean grows sure he is saying the truth. And he realises, with fright, that Cas isn’t simply dead. Cas will be completely destroyed if Chuck has his way.

Dean can’t let that happen.

The Empty looks like she has swallowed acid. “Right,” she says after some time. “Fine. If I get the opportunity, I’ll take him. Perhaps the Nephilim bomb gave me that power. We’ll see. I agree to help you, fine. But why should I let the angel go?”

“Because Cas is the only one that God can’t control.”

The Empty blinks, then laughs. “Why am I even surprised? This angel is a _nuisance_. Can’t leave well enough alone. Billie hated him too. Pretty much every cosmic entity hates him! I should be glad I have him. I defeated the great Castiel that no fate can bend!”

When she puts it that way, Dean feels oddly glad. Glad to have the privilege to know Cas.

It is humbling, to remember that Cas – Cas, his best friend, his angel, his family – is a celestial, millennia-old being, who has chosen to stay with him and Sam. Dean used to think that this was why there was no way Cas could possibly love him back. Why would an angel – the only good angel in Heaven, the one who fought for humanity and for Heaven – love _him_ , a broken human whose place was in Hell?

And yet Cas – this unique, beautiful angel that no fate can bend – does love him. How has Dean managed that – how is that even possible that Cas, bigger-than-life Cas, fell in love with him? he thinks, awed. And yet it is the truth. Cas – Cas can be his, and he can be Cas’s. If – _when_ – he gets Cas back.

He doesn’t know how he can be Cas’s happiness, but that’s what he wants: to make Cas happy.

“If we want to defeat God, we need Cas,” Dean adds. His voice sounds broken, and he wishes it were firmer. “Chuck can control me, he can control Sam, and Jack, and everyone else on Earth – human, monster, demon, angel. We’re all part of his story. You probably are, too. Cas is the only one who isn’t. We can’t defeat God without Cas.”

“Mmh,” the Empty says, pouting. “I think you’re lying to me, Winchester. I’m pretty sure your brother lied to me, after all. Why not you?”

“God will destroy you,” Dean exclaims.

“What?”

“Chuck wants Cas gone for good. All the times Cas died – especially the last one – he kept coming back. Chuck doesn’t want Cas in the story anymore. He’ll make sure Cas is destroyed forever.”

“And to do that... you think he’ll destroy me, too? To make sure?” the Empty asks.

She laughs, but it sounds as empty as she is. Dean swallows, penibly. She is thinking about it. Hope points its pretty yet ugly head in Dean’s heart. He hates hope; this bitch has never been good for him. 

“He’s brought Castiel back before,” the Empty points out.

“Not the last time.”

She blinks, looks away. Silence stretches out between them, and once again, Dean has to stifle hope, nip it in the bud to avoid being disappointed.

“You just want Castiel back because you’re pathetically in love with him,” she says, accusingly.

“Yes,” he admits.

Cas was right. It is freeing, after all. To admit it all. To confess it all. And the Empty doesn’t even blink – doesn’t even seem to consider it abnormal. She says it as if it were a universal truth. Something simple, unquestionable.

Cas said it the same way, too.

Perhaps it _is_ simple, in the end.

“But it doesn’t mean the rest isn’t true,” Dean points out. “Chuck will destroy Cas forever. Do you think I’d want that?”

“No,” the Empty admits. “I don’t think you would.” She’s mocking him, he knows that, but he doesn’t even care.

“Give him back to me,” Dean asks, trying to sound commanding instead of begging. “He won’t annoy you ever again. Every time you had him, something happened. Give him to me, and never take him again. Then maybe you’ll be able to rest.”

“I hate breaking a deal,” the Empty whines.

“Chuck’s writing this story. What makes you think it was _your_ deal? How do you know he didn’t do all that in purpose? So that you’d make a deal with Cas and he’d be eternally unhappy? Doesn’t that sound like something Chuck would want?”

She remains silent for a while, mulling over what Dean’s just said. His fists are clenched so hard his nails hurt the sensitive skin of his hands.

“And you know what,” he adds. “Even if you don’t give him back to me, I’ll keep trying. I’ll never quit. I’ll try again, and again, and again. You’ll never be able to sleep again. I’ll wake you up every day of my life, and even after that. I need him. I _want_ him. I’ll do everything it takes to have him back.”

If her eyes could kill, Dean would have died a thousand times already. But he does feel dead already; so he doesn’t feel the difference.

“Fine,” she finally spits. “I’ll help you defeat God if I can. And you can take your little angel back, if you want him so much. You’ve woken him up with your ritual, already,” she adds, frowning. “He was on his way to join you, but I wanted to see you first.”

Again with the playing and the toying. Dean clenches his jaw and stifles his anger. Now is not the time. “And you lift the curse, of course.”

“You know what? I’m so tired of him that if you manage to get him back you can keep him. He’ll go to Heaven or Hell or God’s ass when he dies, I don’t even care.”

Dean’s heart stops beating. “What do you mean _if I manage to get him back?_ ”

The Empty smiles like a cat that has just played the mice and eaten them. “Well, my dear little Dean Winchester, I love sleeping, and making fair deals, but I _hate_ being bossed around. I hate being summoned, and I hate the little angel you love so much. I think I hate Winchesters, too. Billie told me she wanted me to have you once you die, but I think I’ll pass on that. So, did you really think I’d let you get your angel back so easily?”

She gestured nonchalantly towards the black rift opened behind her. “Get in here, Winchester. He’s waiting for you on the other side. Get him back... if you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we see Cas in the next chapter! Don't be angry, I needed the negotiation thing to happen!  
> If you liked this chapter, please leave a kudo, and comment if you may! ❤


	3. quiet my fears with the touch of your hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 was a little longer than planned, so there'll be 5 chapters instead of 4 :) more Destiel for you!   
> Today: Dean in the Empty! Will he find Cas?

Dean doesn’t know what he expected but... probably not that.

There is no pit, no fire, no angels or demons sleeping through their nightmares and regrets, only... nothing. Pure pitch black – not the black of Baby, but the black of void, the black you see when you close your eyes. It is not a colour, but an absence. He should have known; this thing is called the Empty, after all.

His heart sinks. He was right; he can’t leave Cas here. If Cas found happiness in this place, then maybe Dean would reconsider – if Cas was truly happy, he’d respect his choice, maybe, if he chose to be selfless, for once – but this? Cas doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.

And to think that this is the fate Chuck designed for all his angels – and for all the demons, too... His own children... It makes Dean sick.

No, he won’t leave Cas in here. No matter what it costs, he’ll bring Cas back. Cas is happiness and life; this obscurity, this absence, that’s not a world for him.

Speaking of obscurity –

He holds his fingers in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t see them.

Panic surges through him. How can he find Cas if he can’t see him?

“Cas?” he calls, but he hears nothing. Not even his own voice. “Cas? CAS!” he screams, shouts, yells, but there is no sound.

The careful step he takes on the ground doesn’t make noise either. He doesn’t know where to go. He’s lost. Even more lost than when Cas left him.

He can still feel things, though. He feels the material of his shirt on his skin. He can touch his cheek and feel his fingers. There’s that.

His heart is beating faster with panic. He can’t find Cas. Where is Cas? He’s blind, he’s deaf, there’s no way he can bring Cas back. He doesn’t even see the rift he’s just crossed. It should be behind him; it’s not. There is nothing, no way out.

It’s a trap; of _fucking_ course it’s a trap. Why would the Empty agree to give Cas back? She hates Cas. She is a cosmic being; never trust any of them. It’s all a game to them. He thought he had convinced her but he hasn’t, or she wants to play solo, he doesn’t know. Perhaps she obeys Chuck. What does he know?

He can’t win with cosmic beings, he should have learned that by now. Stupid, stupid.

He’ll never get Cas back. Despair sinks its claws in him. If he had waited a little, perhaps he’d have found another solution, a real one. But now, as it is, Cas will remain in the Empty, and Dean is just as prisoner as Cas is. The Empty, 1, Dean and Cas, 0.

But perhaps she didn’t lie? She likes deals, after all. And she seems stricter about them than a crossroads demon. Perhaps she’s having fun, but there’s a way to get Cas back. After all, she’s not here, taunting him, telling him “ha! I played you”... so maybe there’s hope?

Of course there isn’t. But he has to try. For Cas. 

He takes a prudent step. Then a second one. He tries to circle the area where he landed. Nothing.

What to do, then? Walk and hope?

He shouldn’t get too far off the rift, though. If he does, how will he bring Cas back through it? But if he stays, he won’t find Cas. He has to keep going.

He can pray, though. _Cas. Cas, it’s me. It’s Dean. Wake up. Please wake up. I’m here. Come to me, please, Cas, come to me. We’ll get out of here._

He takes a deep breath, and starts walking. He tries to count his steps, but he soon loses count.

This whole place reeks of despair. Despair, misery, regret. It fits Dean’s mood enough that he didn’t notice it immediately, but now it’s the only thing he can feel.

 _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , he keeps chanting in his head.

It feels like he’s been walking forever.

 _Cas, Cas, Cas_ , his heart chants as well.

And suddenly, he bumps into something.

He stops, startled. Raises a hand in front of him, for the second time.

It’s a person.

He can feel the shape of a shoulder under his hand.

“Cas?” he calls, but of course, he doesn’t hear his own voice.

His heart is beating faster than ever. Has he found Cas? Can it be that easy?

He trails his hand on an arm. The material he touches feels like Cas’s trench-coat.

_It’s Cas._

Except that he can’t be sure.

What if it’s just wishful thinking?

What if it isn’t Cas, but a trap set by the Empty?

The Empty herself? Another angel? A demon? He could be touching Lucifer, for all he knows.

He can’t leave with that person without being sure it is Cas. He can’t leave Cas behind.

He keeps touching, trailing his hand downwards. He feels a hand; he catches it, squeezes it. The hand is warm, and squeezes back.

He can’t know; he’s never held Cas’s hand before. He’s always been too afraid that it would make him a sentimental girl; too afraid that Cas would _know_ , or that he, Dean, wouldn’t be able to keep his love to himself if he indulged in it.

The person laces their fingers together. It must be Cas. Of course it _is_ Cas. No one else would do such a thing, and with such tenderness, too. The hand is masculine; soft, but strong. Dean has always loved Cas’s hands; the hands that have healed him, and restored him to life, and given him hope; big, strong, soft-looking hands he has dreamed of feeling everywhere on his skin.

 _Soon_ , he promises himself. Soon, they’ll do that. It’s something that can happen, now.

He raises another hand. He feels a chest – yeah, a masculine one – and he can feel a heart beating. It beats fast. He has never been so close to Cas; he can’t know if it’s _his_ heart.

So he keeps touching, higher and higher. He touches a face. Caresses it, hoping that he isn’t caressing Lucifer or Crowley or Gabriel or anyone that isn’t Cas. This nose; these lips; these eyebrows; they feel like Cas. Like the map Dean sometimes draws of Cas’s face and body at night, when he lets himself think and dream and hope. But a fantasy isn’t the real thing. He doesn’t know Cas’s body. If he had let himself feel, if he’d gotten his head out of his ass sooner, he’d be able to trace all the lines of Cas’s face by memory alone, he’d know the texture of his skin, he’d know where to trail kisses to make Cas laugh or relax or throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t.

When they get back, he’ll have to remedy that problem.

The hair feels like Cas’s, too. Unruly and soft to the touch.

Dean comes back to the person’s face. How can he know? How can he be _sure_ this is Cas? If he brings someone else back, his chance is over, and Cas will stay trapped here; they’ll never be together, Cas will never be happy. He can’t bear that thought.

A part of him screams that this is Cas, that the Empty is cruel but honest, that his heart can’t be wrong. The other part is terrified because he has no proof, because he’s probably been played, because he needs Cas and he can’t be sure, and he hates himself for not being sure.

The person moves, suddenly. Dean feels oh-so-soft fingers on his face, brushing on his jaw, on his cheek, on his nose, on his brow.

This _is_ Cas. It _must_ be Cas. Only Cas would make sure this is Dean. Only Cas would touch him like that – like a lover.

Cas knows him, knows his body. He rebuilt it once.

And only Cas’s touch would make him feel like that – like a firework is exploding in him. Only Cas can make his skin tingle, his stomach clench and his heart flip in his chest, his breathing short and his blood hot in his veins – and only Cas can make all that feel good, and _right_ , and beautiful. Only Cas can make Dean long for more, can make him feel like he belongs.

Dean closes his eyes as the fingers brush over his lips again, soft as a kiss. “Cas,” he whispers.

The hand lingers there for a moment. Then it is gone, and Dean feels cold – but there it is again, touching his left shoulder.

Right where Cas gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

Right where Cas shoved him away from death.

This is Cas. Only Cas would know. No one else knows. Dean knows the feeling of Cas’s hand there. It can only be Cas.

His heart is screaming “This is Cas” and he needs to believe it. His heart is the only thing not even God can control.

It _is_ Cas.

Dean sighs, and his body sags in relief.

He is no longer lost.

Cas gets one step closer, almost embracing him, but not quite – because Cas doesn’t think Dean loves him. _I love you, Cas. I do. Now it’s my turn to grip you tight, and raise you from your perdition._

He wishes Cas would hug him, and kiss him – but it’s not for now. It’s for when they’re in the real world again.

He can smell Cas’s smell, now, though – ozone and honey, a strange combination that Dean has always found incredibly attractive. It smells like home, like a promise. In his dreams, where he is braver than he really is, Dean often burrows his head in the crook of Cas’s neck and breathes Cas in. Little did he know it was something that he could have – that it was his for the taking.

The hand he is holding moves. Cas’s fingers are spelling something on his skin. _D-E-A-N._ And Dean feels alive again.

Dean smiles, and answers. _C-A-S._

Then he adds, _C-O-M-E. H-O-M.E._

Cas’s body tenses, Dean can feel it. So he squeezes Cas’s hand, hard. _Trust me, Cas._

Finally, Cas relents. Dean takes a step backward, and Cas follows. They are still holding hands, and it is anchoring Dean more than anything else has ever done.

He has found Cas. So is _that_ the Empty big plan? Perhaps she planned for more agonising doubt. But Dean is sure.

Or, well, as sure as he can be.

There’s still a lingering doubt. Maybe it’s not Cas. Maybe he’s being played. Maybe the Empty, or someone else, knows enough about Cas and Dean to portray Cas. And maybe Dean just isn’t worthy of Cas’s love; perhaps he doesn’t love Cas enough to be sure; perhaps he’s mistaken, because he is as bad a lover as he is a friend.

Dean bits his lip, hard.

_This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith._

He can hear Cas’s words – one of the first things Cas had uttered in front of him, back when Dean didn’t yet know how important, how essential Cas would be for him.

He has to believe. He has to have faith in Cas. The person he’s holding hands with – no one else could touch him like that.

He is right. He has to be right.

The walk takes forever. Cas strokes his thumb on Dean’s hand, and it soothes Dean.

Will they walk forever? Are they trapped here?

Has the Empty let them reunite only to keep them here forever – together, but kept separate nevertheless?

_Walk. Just walk. Have faith, and walk. Trust Cas._

So they walk, and walk.

And finally, Dean feels like he’s stumbling through something – and he sees light again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Castiel's POV!


	4. trying to find a part of me you didn't take up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's POV!

Castiel wakes up to Dean’s voice.

_Please, Cas, come back. Wake up, Cas, please, and come back, come back, come back._

Castiel startles, and sits up. Dean’s voice resounds in his ears, loud and clear, on a loop: _wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, come back, please, come back –_ It takes Castiel a few seconds to understand where he is – he feels like he has been sleeping.

Everything around is dark and full of nothing. The Empty. He is back here. Then the memories hit him, and he remembers everything. Billie coming for Dean; Dean’s heart giving up; the useless sigil on the door; and his own declaration.

He remembers Dean’s eyes, shiny with tears and wide with fear and confusion.

Castiel closes his eyes again, and smiles. He feels free now, freer than ever, now that he has finally stopped bottling up his feelings and keeping them hidden. He had not realised before how much effort it took him to silence himself, to repress such an essential part of who he is. He merely feels happy, and relieved. He is glad he has let go of any doubt, of any hope that poisoned his love and made it less pure. To stop feeling ashamed is the greatest relief – the greatest happiness – of all. Now, he can be happy of the simple fact that he loves Dean. This love changed his life for the better.

It is not simply that he has finally opened his heart, it is that Dean is alive, too, and Castiel feels like maybe he has found the meaning of his existence. If he was created to keep Dean alive – Dean, who will vanquish Chuck and free the world, he knows it – then his existence was not as meaningless as he feared.

Of course, now that he is awake, he feels some regret. He did not expect to be awake in the Empty, and to be conscious in a world without Dean. But it is worth it; his happiness shall not be tainted by the futile hope of what he cannot have.

Which begs the question: why did he hear Dean’s voice? Did Dean wake him up? Or was it just a dream? If there is a dream powerful enough to wake him from a death-induced slumber, that would be this one: Dean begging him to come back.

As Castiel thinks that, the words Dean’s voice utters change. “ _.... Nexus noster, restitutus est. Surgas ex abysso, in lumine existas!_ ”

Castiel understands the words instantly. _...Our link restored. Get up from the abyss, and exist into the light!_

Fright fills Castiel’s veins and grace when he understands what this means. Is Dean actually trying to wake him up? To bring him back from the Empty?

He should not. The Empty will never accept it. There will be a price to pay – there is _always_ a price to pay, and Dean knows that. Didn’t they meet because Dean made a deal to save Sam’s life?

Castiel shouldn’t feel flattered or moved, either, he chastises himself. That Dean would be ready to summon the Empty, to make a deal, or to resurrect him, is not something that should fill Castiel’s heart with joy and emotion – he should not think of how loving and selfless Dean always is. No, Castiel should be terrified.

And yet... Well, Castiel has never been good at doing what he is supposed to do.

Then, there is nothing but silence. Silence, silence, silence, eternal silence. Perhaps Dean’s voice was but a dream. This is something Castiel could imagine, just like he often imagines that his feelings might not be unrequited or one-sided. He often imagines that Dean smiles at him, or looks at him, in a special way, or that Dean’s words hide something _more_ , or that there is a longing, a desire, an affection in Dean’s eyes and voice that there is for no one else. Of course, it has always been but Castiel’s selfish, stupid desires. This time, too, could be but a trick his heart is playing on him.

Or maybe is it the Empty that is tricking him? After all, Castiel is awake, and the Empty still has not appeared to him. It should have, by now – it can’t sleep if a resident is awake. Perhaps the Empty cannot sleep and is keeping him awake for sometime (or forever) to torture him. Castiel is not informed of what this entity can or cannot do. If it can see in Castiel’s heart who he loves, then surely it can imitate Dean’s voice.

Castiel is tempted to sigh. Will it never stop? Will there never be peace? But this is the fate he has chosen for himself, and he would not choose any other; so he cannot complain.

Dean is alive, it is all that matters.

Castiel has no idea how much time passes in silence (an eternity or two, he would say), but suddenly, he hears Dean’s voice again.

_Cas. Cas, it’s me. It’s Dean._ _Wake up. Please wake up. I’m here. Come to me, please, Cas, come to me. We’ll get out of here._

Castiel’s dead heart jumps in his chest. Dean’s voice is louder, clearer... and nearer. If he focuses on it, he can even feel like he can know what direction it comes from.

Except that this is impossible, isn’t it? If Castiel can follow a direction to find the source of this voice... then it would mean that Dean is _here_. And Dean cannot, should _not_ , be here.

Unless it is a trick, of course. Perhaps the Empty is waiting for Castiel to follow the voice. Or perhaps this is Chuck? Chuck has retrieved people from the Empty before. Perhaps he wants to capture and torture Castiel some more.

Castiel never thought Chuck – his own father – hated him so much. It is a good thing that he no longer feels any filial affection to God. He stopped being his father a long time ago, and any love Castiel could have had left died when Chuck killed Jack. Castiel has had another family, a real family, for a long time now. He does not need a capricious, petty, narcissistic deity.

But even if this is Chuck waiting for him on the other side on the Empty, Castiel cannot remain rooted here. He has to move and find who is calling – he has to find out if this is Dean, and make sure he is safe if this is him.

If this is a trap, Chuck definitely knows how to manipulate him, he thinks ruefully as he starts walking.

Dean’s voice soon stops saying anything but _Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas, Cas_ on a repeat. This single word – his name – follows the rhythm of Castiel’s heartbeat. His heart is treacherous, because it wants to believe this is Dean (and that is such a twisted, egotistical hope to have, because if Dean is here, then he is in _danger_ ). The way his name is pronounced, this intonation, the emotion contained in this single syllable, how this prayer _feels_ in Castiel’s grace – this is all Dean. He does not think anyone in the universe could imitate Dean with such perfection.

Out of nowhere, Castiel collides with someone.

_Dean?_

It might also be another resident of the Empty. He knows Lucifer is awake, and Ruby too. They are the type to play a trick on him.

It cannot be Dean. Dean would not – Dean has God to kill and humanity to free, why would he be here of all places?

It cannot be Dean – but then Castiel catches the scent of the person he has just bumped into, leather and the Impala and musk. This _is_ Dean.

Dean has come here, in the Empty, to get him back.

Castiel immediately feels ashamed. How could he think that Dean would not come for him? That Dean would not miss him? That Dean did not love him? Not romantically, not the way Castiel has dreamt of for as long as he can remember, but Dean loves him nonetheless – they are family. How could he believe, for even one instant, that Dean would not care, that Dean would accept his death?

Dean is here, for him. Dean has come for him.

He tries to speak – “Dean” – but there is no sound. Of course there is not; they are in the Empty.

Castiel can feel, though. He feels Dean’s hand, soft and hesitant, on his shoulder. Then on his arm. Then Dean catches his hand, and squeezes it, soft and hard at the same time, like he has finally found what he has been looking for and cannot let go, but is unsure of his luck at the same time.

Castiel knows how Dean feels. Of course, _he_ is sure that this is Dean, because he has heard Dean’s prayer and Dean’s ritual. But for Dean, Castiel must be but an unknown person that might or might not be Cas.

Cas squeezes back. _This is me, Dean._ He laces their fingers together, and marvels that Dean is letting him do it. Cas never thought he could even go that far.

Dean is trembling with all his body. Fear? Adrenaline? Emotion? Castiel wants to comfort him, embrace him, until his body goes soft with trust and calm. He knows he cannot. He would never expect Dean to accept that; it would be too much to ask. Castiel can’t be as selfish as to take without Dean’s enthusiastic consent.

Dean can’t seem able to stop touching Cas. Another hand comes up, caresses Cas’s face, soft as a lover’s, so soft and loving that Cas could cry, because how many times has he dreamt of something similar? His lips, his jaw, his cheek, his nose, his eyes, his hair, everything Dean touches comes back to life. Cas feels alive, electrified, and loved. This is terrifying, and sublime, and too good to be true. He cannot let himself dream; but he lets himself savour it, because how could he not?

The trembling hand on his face discovers his body, soft and slow, as if they were making love. This hand screams _Tell me this is you, tell me this is really you_ and Cas wants to scream back _Tell me this is real, tell me this is really happening._

Dean’s fingers stroke Cas’s face, explore him, love him. Cas cannot see, but he closes his eyes all the same. This is overwhelming. This is the best he will ever have, and he doesn’t want to miss any millisecond of it, even though he knows this memory will haunt and taunt him forever. He has reached a new level of happiness, though tainted with melancholy because this will not last: it is simply Dean battling with his own faith and making sure he has found the good angel.

And found he has. Cas has never felt more found in his life. Not even when, in Hell, he felt this beautiful, luminous, pure and loving soul for the first time.

He doesn’t want this moment to end. He doesn’t want Dean to be consumed by doubt, either. He needs to do something. So Castiel raises his hand, and touches Dean’s face too.

This is more than he should be allowed to do, but Dean lets him nevertheless, and finally, Cas can know the feeling of Dean’s face under his hand, the hard and soft lines of it, the grain of his skin. He feels tears, and lines of worry, and a clenched jaw. Oh, to know that he has inflicted that on Dean! Guilt tastes like acid on Castiel’s tongue.

Cas feels Dean’s eyes close, as if Dean was relishing his touch, as well. Then his fingers are on Dean’s lips, and he feels them move under his fingers. A whisper, nothing more, but he can feel the breath on his skin, and every movement on his flesh. He does not need to hear to hear what Dean is saying, because he _feels_ it. “Cas.” Feeling it on his skin like that feels oddly intimate.

So Cas does the only other intimate thing he knows, and moves his hand to Dean’s left shoulder, presses it lightly, like he always does. This was how Dean knew he wasn’t himself but Lucifer, he remembers. This is how they recognise each other; this is how their bond came to existence.

Immediately, all tension leaves Dean’s body. Cas steps up, bringing them closer to each other, and Dean’s body relaxes against his.

They are not embracing, not truly – no matter how much Castiel wants to – but he feels Dean’s body, Dean’s breath, Dean’s warmth all the same. It is a revelation in the silence of the Empty.

It is as if all rage has left Dean’s body – this rage that Chuck awoke out of proportions lately, this rage that is destroying Dean. Now, Dean only feels relieved and unburdened against Castiel’s body.

They are still holding hands, Cas realises. At the same moment, he realises that all this time they have had a very simple manner of communicating, and they haven’t used it. He was too busy enjoying Dean’s touch, like the terrible friend he is.

He moves his fingers on Dean’s palm, and this, too, feels intimate. He spells the letters of Dean’s name, slowly, one after the other.

Dean answers back as soon as he is finished. _C-A-S-C-O-M-E-H-O-M-E._

Castiel tenses immediately. He cannot come home. He wants to, but what deal has Dean struck for him? He isn’t necessary. But peace _is_ , and deals are lethal – they take away peace, and hope, and life, and Cas cannot have that for Dean. Once Chuck is defeated, Dean deserves a good life, not one doomed by a deal made to get _him_ back.

But Dean squeezes his hand even harder, and Cas knows immediately what Dean is telling him. _Trust me, Cas._

Castiel has always trusted Dean, with his life, with his heart, with his everything. He would let no one else guide him in the dark.

So Castiel follows.

Dean doesn’t let go of his hand, not one second. His grip is tight, as if he was afraid Cas would disappear if he didn’t anchor him hard enough. Cas feels like he could indeed vanish if Dean stopped touching him; but he should not worry, because Cas has no intention of letting go.

They walk for a long time. Cas doesn’t count how much. He doesn’t care; he is entirely focused on the feeling of Dean’s hand in his. He knows, now, that Dean will walk him out of here, he has no doubt on that. He knows, too, that as soon as they are back, Dean will let go of his hand, hug him, maybe, because Dean always hugs him when Cas comes back from the dead, and then things will go back to normal. Cas _likes_ normal between them; it is good, even if he (stupidly, selfishly) dreams of _more_. But for now, Cas simply wants to enjoy what he will never have again.

Dean doesn’t have to worry, though: Cas will never ask anything of him, ever. That Dean came for him is more than he needs, more than he hoped for. Cas just hopes his confession will not taint things between them, that Dean and he will not grow apart. That things will be different (that Dean will look at him differently, will want a distance between them) is what terrifies Castiel most.

But when Cas strokes his thumb on Dean’s palm (he can’t help himself), Dean doesn’t squirm away, nor does he flinch. He simply squeezes, again, softly.

Cas hates his treacherous heart for hoping against hope.

Then there is light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Dean and Cas get back to the Bunker... and things happen!


	5. you say it was a great love, one for the ages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter. It's a little too long but... I think you'll like that. *wink*  
> Thank you to everyone who left kudos, commented, followed, and/or added this story to their favourites! I couldn't have done it without you, and I feel so happy and humbled that you all like this story so much. I hope you will like this ending as well.  
> I love you all ❤

Being on Earth all of a sudden is a brutal change. The light make their eyes burn with tears, and their ears fill with sounds – the rumble of water in the pipes, the soft sound of Cas’s trenchcoat against Dean’s shirt.

Castiel looks around, cautiously. He blinks once, twice, and as his eyes get used to seeing light he can see where they are: in the Bunker. He sees the books scattered on the floor, the remnants of what he assumes is the ritual that brought him back, and open boxes of artefacts. The room looks like it was ravaged by a hurricane. Castiel feels humbled again, and something appears to be stuck in his throat, and his eyes prickle. By simply looking at this room, he can feel Dean’s state of urgency and distress.

It dawns on him, then: he is home. He is home, because Dean came for him. Because Dean refused to let him go. Stubborn and loving man that he is.

Cas opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. “Thank you” does not encompass the gratitude, the wonder, or the absolute amazement he is feeling – nor does it correctly express how worried and upset he is that Dean put his life in danger again, for him.

Whatever words he was going to say disappear when he sees Dean’s facial expression, however.

Dean – Dean can’t believe. He’s done it. _Cas is back_. Cas is back, his hand warm and alive in his. He can see his face, his beautiful face, and the confusion and surprise and joy painted on it; he can see Cas’s chest move as he breathes in and breathes out; he can see the light in Cas’s blue eyes. _Cas is back._ He is back, and he is Dean’s, and Dean is breathing again.

“Cas,” he lets out.

And before he can stop himself, he is hugging Cas, hard enough to bruise him, probably, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas’s arms close around him and keep him grounded. His voice – “Dean” – is a low, gravelly rumble near Dean’s ear; it’s never sounded more beautiful. (And Dean hears the words again, “I love you,” and now that Cas is alive and breathing and warm in his arms, he can think they are beautiful, too.)

Dean feels Cas’s hot breath on his skin, and he shakes with the feeling of it, because he doesn’t have to hide now, does he? Cas loves him back; this hug is welcome, their proximity is welcome, finally, _finally_. It doesn’t just feel good, the way their bodies slot together: it feels _right_. It feels like sleeping in a warm, comfy bed after having slept in broken motel beds all your life.

And because all of it is _welcome_ , Dean can let it last. He doesn’t have to rein himself in. He can keep Cas close as long as he wants, as close as he wants. He can shake against Cas’s body, and feel Cas shake, too; he can anchor himself in his angel, breathe him in, rest his cheek against his angel’s, and let the words out;

“Cas,” he hears himself say, as in a dream. “Cas. You’re back. Don’t do that again. Please, Cas, please.”

And Cas – Cas does not know what to think. He wonders in silence, in a way he has not since a long time. Cas has died and come back before, and Dean... has never reacted that way. Cas has been hugged, kept close, and looked at in wonder and happiness, but never with such strength and despair. Oh, he felt Dean’s grief, relief and joy before... but it has never been quite like that. Dean always let him go after some time.

What has changed? he wonders. What is different? Is it because Dean knows of his love for him?

Nonetheless, Cas is weak when it comes to Dean, so he lets himself enjoy every little detail of it: Dean’s arms around his shoulders, one of his hands between Cas’s shoulder blades and the other on the base of Cas’s skull, in his hair ( _this_ is new), the feel of his stubble on Cas’s cheek, of his chest against his (Dean is breathing a lot too fast, until all of a sudden all tension leaves him, and it is as if Dean is _breathing him in_ ).

Hope is a perfidious poison in Cas’s heart; but it must be a sweet kind of poison, because Cas feels _alive_.

They don’t know how long they stay embraced, delighting in the simple joy of this hug. They let go in the end: Dean wants to see Cas’s face. They have to talk, after all.

He does not step back, though. If he focuses, he can still feel Cas’s light breath on his face. They are not as close to each other as they were in the Empty, but it’s alright. Dean feels nervous, all of a sudden.

His mouth is dry. He doesn’t know what to say. So, he settles for a mere, “Hello, Cas.”

And Cas smiles. It lights up the room, and just like that, and even though he just learnt how to breathe again, all the air in Dean’s lungs are stolen away.

Dean would like to say that it’s new, but that would be a lie, if he’s honest with himself.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas answers. The note of happiness in his voice is a victory for Dean: a win against the Empty, against Death, and against God, and against the universe that is so set on destroying them. Cas is happy, but he’s still there. The Empty is true to her word. _Good_.

And when he hears this “Hello, Dean,” he knows what to say.

“Never say goodbye ever again, Cas, you hear me?” he growls. He hates himself for it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He _promised_ himself he wouldn’t be so aggressive, that he wouldn’t let the angry beast inside him take over. And yet, here he is.

Cas said he was not the angry, destructive man he knows he is, that he was a loving man, and yet, right when he is supposed to do the lovin’, he is being aggressive again.

He wishes he could tell Cas, “I’m not angry, I’m just desperate,” but he doesn’t know how to.

He doesn’t know, though, that he has no need to say it. Cas has been watching this man’s eyes for as long as he can remember, and he needs no words to know what Dean is not being hostile, but insistent.

“Dean – I’m sorry. I did what I had to do.”

He watches as Dean swallows laboriously. Castiel often sees Dean do that, but he has no idea what this means. He has always supposed that it is what Dean does when he wants to bury certain words deep inside himself so that they never get out in the open.

“I – I know that, Cas,” Dean says. His voice is low, almost a whisper. It is broken, too. “I’d have done the same thing. Hell, I’ _ve_ done the same thing. You know that.” His laugh is all but gleeful. “You’re not truly a Winchester until you’ve made a deal and sacrificed yourself for those you– for your family.”

Cas nods, smiling. He tries not to feel disappointed. It is not the fact that Dean has just let him know that he was family – nothing romantic – because he knows that, he has always done, and he is done hoping when he knows _being_ is much better. He is sad, though, to see that Dean cannot bring himself to say the words, and he wonders why it is so. Is it that Dean cannot accept that he is loved, and that he is worthy of this love? Or is it that Dean wants to ignore the truth that hangs between them, the truth that Cas blurted out once he was sure there would be no consequences?

Cas does not wish to keep hiding, however. He will not attempt a thing, and he will not expect more of Dean – but if Dean cannot accept his romantic love, it will be a problem.

And how can Cas convince Dean that is worthy of love if he cannot mention his own feelings?

Sometimes, in his hearts of hearts, Cas hates John Winchester for what he did to his sons. And ever since Cas has known the horrible truth, he hates God too, the puppeteer who made it his mission in life to make sure Dean will never find happiness. Sometimes, Cas thinks the curse the Empty placed on him is lighter than the fate God sentenced Dean to.

But Cas cannot say all these things to Dean, so he smiles, and he deflects it. “I thought I was already family before I made the deal,” he says lightly.

“You were! You are,” Dean exclaims quickly. “I meant – I mean – Cas, never die again. Never sacrifice yourself again. Please.”

“I cannot promise you that,” Cas says softly. “With everything going on – with God –”

But Dean insists, “ _Please_.” His eyes are greener than ever, and shining with tears. Cas has seen Dean cry more today than he has before. He remembers what Sam said to him once, that his loss was always too much for Dean, that Dean always fell into a self-destructive spiral when Cas died. He has never truly grasped what Sam really meant, until now.

So Cas does the best he can. “I’ll try my best, Dean, I promise.”

It seems to be enough for Dean. “Thank you,” he says, just as softly.

Then, it looks as if he is about to say something, and Cas wants to delay the fatal moment just a little. So he ask, “Did _you_ made a deal with the Empty?”

He can always count on himself for asking the very thing he doesn’t want to know, only to keep Dean’s “no” from coming.

Dean licks his lips, nervously. “Well – maybe...”

“So I can’t make deals, but you can?”

Dean rolls his eyes. Good thing that Cas’s tone is fond. _How come I haven’t heard it before, how fond it always is?_

“It’s different,” Dean pleads.

“I don’t see how. I saved Jack –”

“Well, I don’t think Jack made you a love confession just before dying, did he?”

Dean bits his lip, hard. _Wow_. Where does that come from? He winces, ashamed of himself. His heart misses a beat. What if he completely misunderstood the situation? Cas has said “I love you” before, but it never meant –

But Cas makes this little crooked, bashful smile of his, and Dean thinks “ _oh_ ,” and _how stupid and blind has Dean been all these years?_ And he feels warm all over, and jittery, and his stomach does weird things.

Dean doesn’t feel ready to talk about this.

“Well, I – I summoned the Empty. I used a spell Rowena translated, and, um, I negotiated. Sort of?”

“What is the counterpart?”

“God?” Dean answers.

Cas’s eyes go round and wide. “God?”

“God.”

“That’s – unexpected.”

“Well, I told her I wasn’t _sure_ she could get him, but, y’know, she’s our ally now.”

“No other counterpart?”

“Listen, I’m sorry to tell you that, Cas, but she doesn’t seem to like you that much. She was pretty impatient to let you go once I told her Chuck would attack her. You know, because she had you, and because Chuck is a control freak, and all that jazz.”

Cas looks unconvinced, though. “It seems too easy. There must be a price.”

“Well. Maybe I also told her that she’d never sleep again if she kept you, because I’d – well, I’d do anything to yet you back. I mean, we. Me and Sam and Jack.”

Dean wants to slap himself. Why can’t he just be _honest_? Truthful? Why can’t he say the one thing he swore he’d say, the one thing Cas needs and wants?

Cas looks him right in the eye, open and honest and moved. “Thank you, Dean. I’m grateful. Beyond words. You shouldn’t have –”

“Of course I should have,” Dean insists, fighting with himself to keep his voice level. “Cas, you’re – you’re important. You – I’d never – I couldn’t let you there. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Cas answers. He is smiling, and he looks genuinely happy, and if Dean were the type to facepalm he’d do it right now. He feels like a bumbling idiot. Because no, Cas _doesn’t_ know. He has no idea what Dean means.

Dean wishes he had the words. If only he could say it. _Cas, I couldn’t abandon you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me._

_Cas, me too. Me too._

It can’t be that hard. Yet it is.

“And, hum, the curse is lifted too. You know, your Angel curse. There’s no – you can be happy, no problem.” Dean feels ridiculous and lame, oh, so _lame_.

Cas simply frowns. “I do not believe this curse is angelic in nature, Dean.”

“No, I mean, the Angel curse, like with Angel in _Buffy_ , one moment of happiness and boom, he’s gone –” Dean feels his cheeks burn and he stops, cursing himself. Does Cas know that Angel’s happiness was, basically, making love with the woman he loved? How much does Cas know about pop culture, again?

Why does he even feel embarrassed? It’d be in his interest if Cas understood –

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again.

Well. Conclusion: no, Cas doesn’t know.

“I mean it,” Cas adds. His eyes are warm, sincere, and loving. Dean is burning in the inside under their gaze. “What you did for me – I have no words, Dean.”

 _I love you_ , Dean wants to answer, but the words won’t get out of his mouth.

“And I am... thankful that you thought of the curse, too,” Cas adds. The words seem harder to come for him, and Dean wonders why. He hates the sudden discomfort he can feel between them. What is going on? “But I would like to tell you – my happiness does not – I can be happy without –”

Cas cuts himself, visibly upset that his words are failing him. Dean can relate.

“My happiness does not depend on you,” Cas says abruptly.

And oh, wow, this one was brutal.

“Well, of course,” Dean says. “It’d be pretty horrible if it did – I mean, I want you to be happy for other reasons, right? Because – well, you said it, good things do happen, and I want you to be happy – y’know, in general?” He’s babbling, oh fuck, he’s babbling. He just wants to say that Cas’s happiness should not rely on one man, or on this man loving him back; that Cas deserves all the happiness in the world; that he hates that Cas is so depressed, so self-hating that he cannot find happiness in the little things of life –

“It’s not what I mean,” Cas insists. “You do not have to – er – return my feelings. I am grateful for what you did, and – it’s enough for me, Dean. I don’t expect anything, and I will never force my feelings on you, I promise you.”

Dean can’t breathe. It’s like his heart has stopped beating. Because Cas said it, once again. _Cas has feelings for him._ It’s a certain thing, now. Cas loves him, and happiness is just here, within his – their – reach. They can have that, they can live it; Dean’s dreams can come true; if only he could say the words...

“Cas –” he starts. He hates how broken his voice sounds. He would like to say the three little words, but there is a dam in his chest that blocks everything that shouldn’t get out.

Dean knows that if he manages to wreak this dam, everything will pour out like a raging river, in a thunderous roar that will break and rebuild everything. But he’s been containing things for so long...

“I don’t deserve you,” he says instead.

Cas’s expressions hardens, then softens. “I told you, Dean. You’re not the man you see. The mirror our enemies hold in front of you – it’s a lie. Don’t believe it. You are a man of good. I have known that ever since I held your soul in my hand, and it’s never stopped being true. This life – it has a toll on you but it doesn’t change who you are at heart.”

“You deserve better,” Dean insists. “I’m a mess. I’m broken.”

“You’re not,” Cas says. “ _I_ may be so, but not you.”

“You’re not broken. Cas, you’re – you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

He’s almost there. Almost. If only, if only.

Cas smiles. “Dean –”

“Cas, stop.”

Dean knows, right here and then, that he has to say it. For himself, and for Cas. Because they can have that, if only he stopped being so – himself.

Dean is not a man of words, never has been. He is a man of action.

In the Empty, they only had touch... It was easier to express himself... With words, he’s lost. He’s never managed it.

Now that they’re back, now that Dean has things to say, he doesn’t know how to. The words are heavy in his chest, but he can’t get them out. Silence is safer. Silence is what he knows best.

How come that he is only able to speak the words when Cas is lost?

Now that Cas is back Dean doesn’t think he deserves this. Cas, this beautiful, unique, splendid being, deserves so much better than Dean. How could he be in love with Dean?

And he hates that he always has a good reason not to speak. Before, it was because he thought Cas would never love him back (how could he? Who would?). And now? What is the reason? That Cas deserves better? Hell, yeah – but it’s also what Cas _wants_ , and Dean knows they’d be good for each other – they’d repair each other, they’d be happy, he just knows it.

Now – now, he has to admit to himself, that maybe it was all pretences, that maybe there are just things that he never was able to... that he kept some things hidden, because... He doesn’t know why.

He remembers all the times when Cas smiled and he wanted to lean in and discover what his smile tastes like. All the times when he could just have burrowed his head on the crook of Cas’s neck, when they were watching movies. All the words he could have said, all the time, almost always bursting out of his chest at every moment, at every thing Cas did. How easy it would have been to tell him, or to kiss him, or to ask him on a date, or to embrace him. He recalls all the times he almost did – all the times he opened his mouth, or leant in, or rehearsed a speech in his head, or thought about it, or promised himself he _would_. But he never did. Something always came up, or – or Dean just never dared.

Dean is terrified, once he recalls just how many times he almost did it – terrified at all the effort he put into never doing it, and into forgetting he’s even thought about it at all.

And then he realises – yes, terrified is the right word. It’s been the right word all along.

He knows that Cas is watching him curiously, and he wonders what Cas thinks.

He doesn’t know that Cas is aware that Dean is battling with himself. What Cas does not know, though, is what Dean is currently fighting with. He has seen this type of inner fight in Dean before – often, actually. He has come to recognise it. It usually happens when Dean is torn between singing along to a Taylor Swift song, or pretending he hates it; or when Dean knows something about anything remotely intellectual, but doesn’t dare say it. But what war could be raging inside Dean’s heart right now? Cas is confused.

He watches as Dean opens his mouth, closes it, swallows painfully. He watches his fists close, and he sees Dean making his decision.

Dean gets closer, ever so slowly. He is terrified, terrified beyond words, but he has to do it, he wants to do it. If he can’t say it – he can show it. He can _do_ it.

Dean grasps Castiel’s arms and brings him close. Castiel sees Dean’s face get closer, closer, closer, until their breaths are mixing and they are living on each other’s air, and it feels even more intimate than what happened in the Empty, and all of a sudden, Cas understands, he understands what it is Dean has been trying to say – _oh_...

And Dean’s lips are on Castiel’s.

His kiss is soft, hesitant, barely a touch of lips at all. A ghost of a kiss. Dean kisses him like a moth that is attracted to the flame, but is afraid that it will burn its wings. The fire that sparks from that kiss, though, is but the warmth of home and the firework of passion. It burns, but it does not destroy. It doesn’t kill; it revives.

The kiss is soon over, and Dean is looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. And Cas – Cas just smiles, more widely than ever. His blood sings in his veins. _Dean loves him too._

Oh, how stupid he’s been!

“Dean,” he sighs.

And Dean – Dean is broken, and he didn’t know there could be a good kind of broken. He feels like he’s been torn open and wrecked, and rebuilt. It feels so _right_.

So much time spent thinking it was wrong, oh so wrong to think of Cas like that, and forbidding himself to even acknowledge it, and he never once suspected that it’d be so good, so right, so pure. It doesn’t feel disgusting or shameful, or even frightening, all of a sudden. It seems – it is – _normal_. Fitting. And long overdue.

The dam doesn’t really have a reason to exist, does it? Here, in Cas’s arms, he is safe, he can be himself, because Cas loves him. He knows him like no one else knows (the good, the bad, and the hidden), and he loves him, and it’s _Cas_. It’s like a haven (or a heaven, maybe).

So he can say it. He can be as brave and sincere as Cas, because – because he has no reason not to.

So he rests his forehead on Cas’s, and he says it, soft and true, against his lips.

“Cas – I love you too.”

Cas’s eyes scan Dean’s face, incredulous. Is it – true? Did this kiss really happen? But yes – Dean is watching him with intent, and it _is_ love in his eyes, and Cas feels stupid. Now that he looks back on it – Dean loves him. It seems so blatant, now.

“Dean –” He can’t help smiling. “Dean...” He sighs.

He was wrong; he _could_ be happier than he was simply saying it.

And Dean’s mouth meets his, once again.

(Later, in half an hour, Sam and Jack will barge into the Bunker, convinced that Dean and Cas haven’t answered their phones because something happened. (They’re right, of course.) They’ll come, expecting to find two dead bodies, and instead they’ll find a room scattered with books, and Dean and Castiel kissing, kissing, kissing in the middle of it as if they can’t stop.

Of course, Sam will think, “About damn time,” and Jack will wonder how Cas managed to have what would make him the happiest being on Earth without the Empty coming in and stealing him. But they’ll say nothing of that, and they’ll just ask, “What happened?”

And Dean and Cas will step away from one another, and Cas will expect Dean to hide, perhaps, and Dean will contemplate it for one second or two, because it’s still so new to him, this honesty thing; but he’ll decide that, what the hell, the world’s ending anyway, and there’s no point in hiding it, he’s tired of hiding it. So he’ll beam and say, “It’s a long story.”

And Sam will ask, “And Billie?” And they’ll tell them, about the deal, and how Cas sacrificed himself to save Dean, and how Dean came to rescue him.

And Sam and Jack will conclude that Cas’s happy moment was that Dean finally declared his love, or kissed him, and they’ll be bewildered when Cas answers, “No, that was later.”

And Dean will never tell Sam and Jack what really happened, because first, it’ll be too funny just watching them be _so_ confused, but also because, tragic and beautiful as this moment was, it was Dean’s and Cas’s alone, and Dean will want to keep it hidden, not because he’ll be ashamed, but because he’ll treasure it.)

Their second kiss is soft, too, but it is more a kiss than the previous one. They press their lips together, and slot their bodies together as well. Cas’s arms find their way around Dean’s shoulders, and Dean keeps Cas’s face between his hands, caressing his cheeks.

The third one is more tentative. They explore each other, unhurriedly. They test the waters, move their lips against one another’s. They discover each other’s taste, and they know they’re ruined for any other taste in the world.

The fourth one has tongue and teeth. Dean licks Cas lips, and Cas bits Dean’s playfully. They have difficulty finding their breaths again, but they can’t stop. It’s just all so good.

The fifth one is similar, but their hands start moving. Dean tangles his fingers in Cas’s hear, caresses his neck. Cas’s hands are all over Dean, on his chest, over his heart, on his clavicles, on his waist. The hands are a discovery, and they know they’ll never tire of it – they want more, more, more hands, everywhere, they want everything. 

The sixth kiss is more of a trail of kisses. Dean peppers kisses all over Cas’s face – his cheeks, his jaws, his forehead, his neck. Cas laughs and throws his head back in pleasure as Dean tastes his skin and finds a sweet, sensitive little place he bits playfully.

The seventh one is a revelation. Their tongues slide against each other, they play and caress. They explore the other’s mouth, tasting each other in a brand new way, worshipping each other with passion.

Then... then things become blurry, and they stop counting. The kisses become playful, more assertive, more daring, more _everything_. Dean’s hands leave Cas’s face to embrace his waist under the trench coat and caress his ribs. Cas leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses on Dean’s neck, and tastes Dean’s sighs. The kisses they trade become passionate, until they can’t breathe anymore. But they don’t stop. Their lips separate for the smallest time before they kiss again. They whisper each other’s name on each other’s lips. They smile into their kisses. They press their bodies together, closer, closer, closer. They devour each other.

It is love, and passion, and truth. It is everything.

And Dean knows, at this moment, that maybe everything won’t be perfect. It’ll take him time to ease into this new truth, to live it fully. But they’ll do it. They’ll manage this, together. They’ll defeat Chuck, and then they’ll be free, and then he’ll be fully Cas’s and Cas will be fully his, and they’ll be happy.

He has faith.

(A few years down the road, Dean will wake up in their bed. They will be in the dark, cuddling, because they always find each other even in the dark. And Dean will not be able to see Cas’s face, but by that point he will know every detail of it, and if you asked him he could map Cas’s entire body from memory alone, as he promised himself he would, that day, in the Empty.

Then the sun will rise, and Cas’s face will be revealed to him in all its beauty. And as Cas wakes up, Dean will stroke the grey hairs on his angel's temples, and he’ll think he has never been happier. He’ll think that Cas was right, that good things do happen; that happiness is in _being_ indeed; and that he, Dean, was right to have faith in that, in them, in Cas.

Cas will wake up, slowly, and Dean will relish it, as always.

And Cas will raise his head and look Dean in the eye, and Dean’s breath will be taken away, as always, by the sheer fact that the most wonderful being in the universe loves him. He’ll realise, as always, how lucky he is, and that all the work they put in this relationship was _so worth it_.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas will say. Happiness will shine in his eyes.

And Dean will not be able to keep the words buried inside his heart; in fact, he will not even try to, because there is no need, there never was.

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” he’ll say.

And Cas will smile. He will lace his fingers with Dean’s (and Dean will admire the matching silver bands on their fingers), and he will say, “Only a thousand times.”

“So many?” Dean will laugh.

“I think it’s more,” Cas will add, “but I’ve stopped counting.”

And Dean’s heart will leap in his chest; he’ll steal Cas’s lips; and he’ll say the Words again.)

**THE END**

**“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell;**   
**I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth.**   
**I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”**

**_The Song of Achilles_ , Madeline Miller**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the end.  
> Did you like it?  
> Lots of love ❤ xxx

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've liked it so far. Please leave kudos if you have, and a comment if you can! ❤  
> Will post the next chapter soon, I promise!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * ['Cause Either Way You Cannot Breathe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471883) by [wouldbflat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldbflat/pseuds/wouldbflat)




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